


The More Things Change

by kronette



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Rimmer and Lister came to live in new quarters and why Rimmer's uniform changed. </p><p>Written for the "Mind The Gap" challenge <a href="http://reddwarfslash.livejournal.com/423235.html">http://reddwarfslash.livejournal.com/423235.html</a>, filling in the gap between Series II and III.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

"I'm scared," stated the muffled voice above his head.

Rimmer's gaze traversed the underside of Lister's bed, wondering if he was meant to hear that. It was just after 11pm, but Lister had been sleeping more than usual, due to The Pregnancy.

Ordinarily Lister would be out with Cat drinking the night away at Parrot's, but The Pregnancy had put a stop to any and all alcohol. The first few weeks after the strip had turned red had been a dream for Rimmer, who took to teasing and ribbing Lister every chance he got. The normally amenable Scouser's temper shortened and strengthened due to the unfamiliar hormones ravaging his body, and their rows quickly escalated to unforgivable levels.

When Lister had thrown Rimmer's revision timetable at – and through – him, Rimmer had retaliated by threatening to have the skutters flush the ship's supply of cigarettes out an airlock. That was the last fight they'd had, as Lister had moved out that very night with Cat helping him pack up his things.

Those two and a half months of Lister-less living had been bliss. No hazardous waste in the clothes bin. No messes on the table, sink, floor, beds...anywhere. There was one tiny, gargantuan drawback to Lister moving out, however – it left Rimmer alone save for Holly. Cat went wherever Lister went, so Rimmer essentially had no one to talk to. It felt like the time before Holly had released Lister from stasis, and Rimmer had hated being alone on the empty ship. His few attempts at chatting with Holly about astro-navigation or star charts had ended in frustration on both their parts. Even the simplest of conversations – best strategies for winning at RISK – had ended badly. It simply hadn't been enough to engross himself in books and vids and learning. Rimmer had needed someone to talk to. Rimmer needed Lister.

It had taken Rimmer another four days after that realization to work up the courage to face Lister and ask that he move back, but he'd shagged that up good and proper.

"Tsk, tsk," he'd tutted as he rocked back and forth on his heels, observing the pig sty that resided where the officer's quarters had been. "You honestly expect to raise the babies in this filth? You'll probably lose them under that mountain of clothes."

"Smeg off, Rimmer," Lister had snapped back, bits of carrot falling from his mouth. The Pregnancy had the oddest effect on Lister's eating habits – fresh fruit and veg seemed the only thing he could keep down. "I like it here. It's homey."

"It should be condemned," Rimmer had retorted with a sneer. "How can you turn an immaculate officer's quarters into such a mess in such a short time?" He had made a sweeping gesture with his arm and shook his head. "It's obvious you need supervision. Have the moggy grab your things and let's go."

"What'd you say to me, Rimmer?" Lister had asked slowly, but Rimmer had been too distracted by the inhuman smell coming from the waste bin to notice the warning.

"Did something die in there?" He had leaned over and peered cautiously into the depths of the bin, then had quickly slapped a hand over his nose and mouth. " _Smeg_! You're supposed to empty the bin at least once a fortnight, not let the pits and cores decompose into black sludge!" The carrot that Lister had been gnawing on went through his head, startling him.

Lister's anger had pushed him out of the door, pieces of carrot and anything Lister could throw following him. "Get out of me quarters! I don't want you anywhere near me or me sons, you got that?" Lister had raged, throwing an armful of clothes through Rimmer. "Just stay on your own smegging floor with your own smegging rules and leave me the smeg alone!"

Rimmer had been backed into the corridor, futilely trying to dodge tossed items, when Lister had slapped the door closed. Rimmer had gaped at the Ocean Gray door and felt outrage overtake him. What the smeg had just happened? He'd come to ask Lister to move back, and Lister had ended up tossing him out! Well, he didn't need the goited man, anyway.

He'd marched stiffly back to his quarters and surveyed his neat and orderly things, but the military precision he'd viewed seemed colder to him, somehow. It had been everything he'd always thought he'd wanted – until Lister's flamboyance upended itself over his life. The few bright spots of color had seemed muted, the surfaces shone dully, and the grays appeared drab and dreary. It hadn't been just the visual dimming, though. The silence had pressed in on him until he'd felt like he should cower down to avoid it. His repeated calls to Holly had gone unanswered that night and through the next day; it seemed that even the ship's computer favored Lister's company over his.

It had taken him the better part of a week to analyze what he'd been feeling, and while abandonment had been the first thought to come to him, lonely, miserable and sad had quickly followed. He had stared at himself in the mirror – at his crisp beige uniform, once so full of meaning and history and promise. It was now a relic, just as the Space Corps, JMC and his ideals were. He would never make officer. He would never have a career. The uniform no longer held meaning and with a sudden burst of vehemence, he'd called out to the air, "Holly! I know you can hear me. I want to change my uniform. I never want to see it again, in fact. Do you have Ionian historical clothes on file? I want to dress like my forefathers who settled Io."

To his relief, Holly had appeared on screen, though he seemed none too happy. "What are you yelling about now, Arnold? Haven't you upset enough people on this ship?"

He'd been instantly contrite. "I know I have, Holly, but this uniform stands for everything that Lister hates. I don't want him to hate me anymore. He needs my help; you know he does. He's getting on in the pregnancy, isn't he? Has he read up on what's happening to his body? What he can expect come closer to the delivery date? What to _do_ for two newborns? I can read to him, Holly. I can help him through this. I-I want to help him. But I need _your_ help in order to do that."

And to his utter astonishment, Holly had listened to him. The ship's computer had given him the smart, sleek uniform of the first Rimmer settlers on Io in the shade of green on the Rimmer Crest. As he'd smoothed down the tunic and admired himself in the mirror, Holly added the hat to his head and he'd nodded his approval. Then, his nerves had returned. "What do I say to Lister?" he'd fretted. "How do I apologize for being a gimboid?" 

Holly had scrunched up his face in thought. "Tell him you apologize for being a smegging gimboid. That's my suggestion."

His first instinct had been to snap at Holly, but he bit his tongue before he could utter a word. Nothing he'd tried had gone right; maybe it was time to listen to someone else. Having Holly speak to him again had helped, but he missed the interaction with Lister. Slob though he may be, he'd been the closest thing Rimmer had to a true friend.

"Could you do me one more favor, Holly?" he'd braved. "Could you ask the skutters to come in here? I need their help with something."

Gathering what little courage he had left, Rimmer had gone to apologize to Lister with his tail between his legs. He'd been half afraid that Lister wouldn't see him, but then Lister had opened the door. Lister's impassive features had morphed to shock as he'd looked Rimmer up and down. "Rimmer. What happened to your uniform? Eh? What's this?"

Rimmer's gaze had followed Lister's wide-eyed stare as he'd looked beyond him. Rimmer had begged the skutters for help in packing up his things and they'd trailed dutifully behind him on the lift up to the officer's quarters. He'd decided to not bother asking Lister to move back; he'd beg Lister to take him in, instead.

He'd turned back to Lister but kept his eyes lowered as he spoke, too ashamed and none too proud of what he'd said and done. "I said some horrible things to you, things I didn't even realize I was saying at the time, but thinking back on them, they were … horrible. I don't know if will make any difference in how you think of me, but I apologize, Lister. I am deeply sorry for the hurt I've caused you. You need friendship and support now, not my smegginess. If you can forgive me, I'd like to help you, if I can."

Lister had been quiet; too quiet. Rimmer had lifted his gaze then and squirmed at the sight of tears in Lister's eyes. "You hurt me, man. You really, really hurt me."

"I know," Rimmer had answered quietly. "I'm sorry."

Lister had nodded once and stepped back into his room. "Don’t do it again."

Rimmer had taken that invitation and hurried the skutters into the room, afraid that Lister might change his mind.

That had been months ago. Lister was well on seven months pregnant now and was starting to toddle as he walked, though Rimmer held his comments to himself. He'd caught Lister staring at nothing as his crocheting lay forgotten in his hands. He'd looked so forlorn; so lost, but Rimmer couldn't even pat him on the back in sympathy or encouragement.

And now the half-plea from the bunk above him, "I'm scared."

Rimmer worried his lower lip between his teeth and whispered, "Listy?"

A face made even rounder by puffiness leaned over the side, wet with tears. "I can't do this, Rimmer. How'm I supposed to take care of my sons on me own? Cat means well, but I can't trust him to bring me a drink from the vending machine without getting distracted. And you can't…" his voice trailed off, but Rimmer was pretty sure he knew what Lister was going to say.

"I can't touch anything," he finished quietly, shifting his head to see Lister better. "I wish I could, but holograms weren't made that way."

Lister rolled back onto his bunk. "You're doing all you can, helping me read all the pregnancy books and stuff."

Rimmer fidgeted with the sleeve of his pyjama top, then answered, "I wish I could do more."

Lister's, "Thanks, man," warmed him more than McGruder's touch ever had.

"Do you want me to sing to you?" Rimmer asked shyly. He wasn't one to normally offer without excessive prodding accompanied by threats of violence against his person, but there was no one to taunt him, now. And Lister needed a distraction.

"Get out of town," proclaimed the old Lister, head reappearing over the edge of the bed. "You sing?"

"I will, as long as you never, ever offer to accompany me on guitar," Rimmer threatened lightly, shuddering as his gaze flicked over to the instrument of torture, innocently leaning against the far wall.

Lister broke into his old, chirpy grin. "Go on, then."

It was a tune he'd overheard the lads chanting in secondary school, but he'd changed the rude lyrics to a story of an honorable solider far away from home. His voice was soft yet strong, always afraid of being overheard; forever afraid of being beaten up yet again for having a girly voice.

When he finished, he only heard silence from the upper bunk for almost a full minute, then Lister's tight voice said, "That was brilliant."

Rimmer let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He felt heat on his cheeks and wondered how a hologram could blush. "It's just mucking about," he deflected.

Lister's face appeared again over the side of the bunk. "That was not mucking about. It's a good singing voice."

Rimmer wasn't used to compliments, so he joked, "Too bad it came from me."

That earned him a glare. "Thank you," Lister said sincerely, then rolled back to his bunk and soon snores rolled throughout their quarters.

Rimmer remained awake, wondering why he felt comfortable enough to offer to sing for Lister.

=-=-=-=-=

The actual labor part of Lister's labor wasn't all that bad. At the first twinge of pain, Lister had been off to the medibay with the skutters in tow. Cat was even bribed into helping with anesthesia and removing the babies to the incubator, where the skutters could run tests to ensure their health.

Rimmer winced as the duo wailed their displeasure in harmony, upset at having been removed from their nice, warm home of 33 weeks. Betty the skutter was waving the regenerator over Lister's abdomen to close him up, but Rimmer was staring at his sweaty, pained face. Lister's eyes were nearly closed but he had a faint, loopy grin on his face. "M'boys?" he slurred.

Rimmer glanced over at the twins, one of whom was quieting down to a low roar. "Yes, Jim and Bexley are doing fine. Aren't they, Bob?" he asked the other skutter. Bob waved his robotic arm in answer and Rimmer took it to mean everything was tickety-boo.

Lister's smile faded as he drifted to sleep, allowing the painkillers to pump through his system as Betty finished closing his wounds.

Rimmer's attention was drawn back to the babies, who were starting to snuffle a bit as they grew weary of screaming. He stared down at each of them in turn, fascinated that they could look so much alike, yet still be so different. In truth, they were the first babies he'd ever seen in person. He was the youngest child in his family, and his grades were never good enough to allow him freedom to visit neighbors or take on a babysitting job. Even on his frequent visits to the A&E, he wasn't allowed to roam the hospital.

Tiny fists balling up ten tiny fingers waved angrily on one baby, while the other's fist was shoved against his mouth as his exhaustive crying sent him to sleep. Rimmer didn't know which son was which; Lister had been high on anesthesia when he declared them Jim and Bexley, with no way to tell them apart.

"These two loud things hurt my ears. If I were him, I'd give them away as soon as possible," Cat huffed as he studied the nearest baby.

"We're stuck with them, Cat, so you better get used to them," Rimmer warned. The books he'd read to Lister had said that babies woke every few hours to eat and had to be changed constantly so as to prevent diaper rash. He wouldn't be able to help with either of those tasks, so he'd been thinking of more bribes to get Cat to help Lister. "How would you like some new shiny things?"

Cat eyed him warily. "You're just going to _give_ me your shiny things?"

Rimmer's smile was shark-like. "Oh, no, miladdo. If you help with the babies, I'll get you all the shiny things you could want."

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose. "I doubt that, goalpost-head. I can want a _lot_ of shiny things." Then he frowned down at the still-crying baby. "And you want me to do what with this noisy thing?"

Rimmer began a negotiation with Cat on his duties to the children, versus the amount of shiny things he'd get in payment, but he kept being distracted by the squalling. The sleeping baby had woken up and joined his brother's wails. Surely the children would sleep more than ten minutes at a time? They sounded pained. And they looked bigger. Significantly bigger than they had just an hour before.

"Wake him," Rimmer demanded of Cat, pointing toward Lister. "Something's wrong with the children."

While Cat prodded and poked at Lister to rouse him, Rimmer tried singing softly to the boys, but he couldn't be heard over their screams. "Lister!" he frantically yelled.

Lister stumbled next to him, staring down at his boys in shock. "Eh? How long was I asleep? They look months old!"

"Just about an hour," Rimmer assured him, though he worried his lower lip. Something was definitely wrong. He watched as Lister picked up his boys and settled them in the crook of his arms.

"Come on, boys, no need for that. Daddy's here." Lister jiggled them and rocked them, but still they continued.

Lister's Hawaiian shirt and pose triggered something in Rimmer's memory. "Lister," Rimmer reminded him faintly, "It's about time for our past selves to appear in the hallway. You need to take the boys outside so your younger self can take a picture."

"What? Oh, right," Lister answered distractedly and walked out of the medical unit.

=-=-=-=

Three days. Three smegging days was all Lister got to spend with his boys, before the stubborn git finally admitted that keeping them in their universe would end with them dead by month's end.

Rimmer watched him sulk in his bed, refusing to get up or eat. Rimmer couldn't make him do either and Cat was more concerned about his own stomach contents.

Rimmer had plenty of experience at feeling helpless and useless, but never more acutely than as he watched the normally chipper Lister sink into depression. Rimmer had enjoyed their last few weeks together. It had almost been a real friendship, with Rimmer able to contribute something to Lister's well-being. Lister's reaction was new to Rimmer, but pleasant – no longer a gimboid, git or smeghead, now it was plain Rimmer and even once 'Arnold' during one of their late night chats when the boys' kicking wouldn't let Lister sleep.

Deep down, Rimmer knew what might snap Lister out of his funk, but it meant sacrificing his own happiness, something he'd grown to cherish the last few weeks. As Lister spent his eighth day in bed with covers tucked up to his ears, Rimmer decided it was time. With a heavy heart, he commanded, "Lister. You've been lazing around long enough. We need to do ship's inventory. You've put it off for the last time. No dawdling, miladdo!" he yelled directly at Lister's head. "On your feet! You'll meet me in the drive room in a half hour, or I'll have Holly deprogram the beer dispensers so you'll only have water to drink. Move it!"

He watched Lister start to stir, then met bloodshot eyes as they turned to him. "You can't be serious, Rimmer."

Rimmer kept his expression cold and closed off and his voice gruff, with considerable effort. Lister looked like he needed a friend, a hug and a beer, all rolled into one.  "We'll start with desserts. I'll see you in the drive room in a half hour, Lister. If you're late, I'll start the skutters on a purge of ship's inventory of cigarettes out the airlock." He turned smartly on his heel and marched out of their quarters, half afraid he would give himself away by allowing Lister to see the tears in his own eyes.

The End


End file.
